Page 102 of Lovely War
“No,” I say. “He makes me feel grounded. More sure. Of him, of us, of everything. Being with him makes the rest of my life better.”
“Well, then,” Lauren says. “Get your ass on that plane.”
THIRTY-THREE
When Ben opens the doorand I set my eyes on his familiar face and his familiar body in his familiar joggers and familiar gray T-shirt, I want to launch myself into his arms. But it’s not the moment for that, so I resist. He must have the same impulse, because he leans in but aborts and sticks a hand in his hair instead. His face does go from blank to Christmas-light-bright when he sees me, which is so nice I’d like to bottle the feeling and hoard it in bulk in a doomsday bunker. I smile back, just as goofily.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Poets, the two of us.
“It’s good to see you,” I say. My heart is bouncing off the walls of my chest. I thought it was beating at top speed on the walk over to his apartment, but apparently that was just the warm-up.
“You too.” He leans against the doorframe and looks down at me with dark, curious eyes. “What’s in the bag?”
The duffel bag at my feet that I lugged here, set on the step next to me, and promptly forgot. “Right,” I say. I pull out a covered baking dish and thrust it at him. “This is for you.”
He peels back the foil slowly and scans the contents. “Uh-oh.”
“It’s not stress lasagna,” I assure him. “I swear. It’s regular lasagna. You haven’t had it yet, so.”
“Thanks.” He puts the foil back in place and rubs the back of his head. “Do you want to come in?”
I bite my lip. I could say yes and do this the straightforward way. But I create narratives for a living, and I’m a sucker for a cinematic moment. I can do better than the straightforward way. Which means there’s something else burning a hole in my bag.
“I have a better idea.” I reach down and pull out the basketball. “Let’s play a game.”
The park near Ben’s apartment is most popular with the toddler set, for whom the primary attraction is the new, state-of-the-art jungle gym. But next to that is a green field dotted with picnic tables, and behind it is an old basketball court that’s rarely in use, the lines sun-bleached and the nets frayed.
“You remember the rules?” I shift the ball from one hand to the other and back again. “If I make a shot, I get to ask you a question. If I miss, you can ask me something.”
“Oh, I remember,” he says. “I remember you shooting eighty percent from the free throw line. But please, go right ahead.” He leans back against the chain-link fence, folding his hands in front of him, and watches me expectantly.
After I make the first shot, I turn to find him standing near the three-point line in the corner. The sun is behind him; I squint and lift a hand so I can see his face.
“How are you?” I ask.
“Pretty good.” He drags a toe across the line on the court. “I’ve missed you.”
I may never get used to the way he’s unafraid to be straight with me. Honest. It’s like jumping into the ocean the first week of summer, when the water is bracing cold. Unable to resist, I jog to him, give him one quick crushing hug, and sprint back before I’m too tempted to abandon the game. He laughs.
“Is Williams taking the Meagher job?” I ask after the second shot.
“Yes. He leaves next week.”
The third one sails right through the net, easy. “What about you? Are you applying for the open coaching job here, then?”
His hands rest on his hips. “Depends on how this conversation goes. If I apply, I may not get it. Kyle wants it too, and I’m sure they’ll consider outsiders.”
I snort. “Kyle will be lucky if he doesn’t get demoted to water boy. It’ll be you.”
I get set in my position again, take my usual dribbles, square up to shoot. The ball starts off arcing toward the basket like it should. But then out of nowhere a hand appears, flicking the ball off course, redirecting its trajectory to send it sailing sideways until it clangs against the fence.
“Hey!” He’s standing in front of me now. How did he even move so fast? “It’s like you used to be a basketball player or something,” I say.
“You never said I wasn’t allowed to play defense.”
